Red Weather

20. Shifting Ground

138 20 ShiftingGround It was impossible to talk over the noise of backhoes, helicopters, and men shouting. Neva could only communicate by pointing and gesturing , as she dished up soup and handed out corn tortillas to a dazed mother and child. The little boy’s head was bandaged. Each person received one bowl of pork soup and two tortillas. Neva was so hungry that every few minutes her stomach would cramp and bend her over. Once she turned away and stuffed half a tortilla in her mouth, turning back to the endless line, every face watching her jaws working, her throat swallowing. It was three days since the earthquake. Flies buzzed over the warm food. She had been standing for four hours. It was hot, Alabama hot, Atlanta asphalt on an August day hot. From time to time a slight breeze lifted the stray locks of dirty hair around her face, but with the breeze came the smell of the bodies they were still uncovering from the rubble of what used to be downtown. Her hands were so dirty she tried not to touch the food, but as one layer of dust then another settled over everything they were serving, it seemed ridiculous even to try. All day the sweet breeze had gagged her. She knew if she didn’t eat soon, she would faint. She was afraid if she ate she would vomit. Three days since Kira woke her up from a dead sleep. Four since she’d returned from La Loma. She’d been dreaming. She and Harker at the state fair, spinning crazily in one of those rides that turned from side to side. The machine made a grinding sound that hurt her ears, vibrated uneasily in her jaw and molars. She was turning to Harker to tell him she had to get off—she was too dizzy—when there was a bright light. And then the light was over her head and Kira was shouting from the doorway . Her bed moved from side to side, and around them was the sound of the earth grinding against itself, of buildings trying to go down. 139 How instantly the world had changed. A few days ago, she had come down from the mountain filled with her story. “It’s so hard to know how to begin,” she’d said to Deb and Kira at dinner the next night. “And I have to ask you not to talk with anyone about this.” They had nodded, but then Jamie had come in with a boy they didn’t know, and the moment had passed. She was covered with mosquito bites from sleeping outside. They’d run out of repellent the first night, and there was none to buy. There had been dengue fever in the city last May, but no one seemed to worry about it now. She was sure the hospitals were choked with people. No one knew how many had died, how many were dying, how many had been found. The worst damage was downtown, in the stacks of apartments and office buildings. The offices had been empty, but the fastfood places collapsed instantly under the floors stacking overhead. The Pollo Loco had been crammed with students from the university. When they pulled the bodies out, some of them were clutching chicken legs in their hands. One boy’s jaws were clamped together on a wing. Sleeping outdoors seemed oddly safe. They had not seen their vigilante since the quake, the young man they paid protection to. Before the earthquake, they would hear the two quick toots on his whistle as he strolled by their house on his nightly rounds. They didn’t know if he was dead or stranded in the countryside, but the Vides family next door had their guards out patrolling most of the night. Once Deb had cried out in her sleep, and all three of them had rushed over. After that, none of them could sleep, and they spent the hours until dawn teaching the guards to play hearts. They carved up the last watermelon and ate it in the dark. Everyone was afraid of running out of water. When they’d scooped the last of the red pulp from the rind, Tino, the youngest of the guards, tipped it back and drank the juice that remained. “Gracias! Gracias!” the next woman in line was saying. Her eyes were teary. “Los Americanos, gracias a ustedes,” she said, and Neva realized that she thought...